splendid in ashes
by wild wolf free17
Summary: Dark Knight Rises anthology; unconnected ficlets, gen and canon, with dark tendencies
1. sing, Shahrazad

Title: sing, Shahrazad

Fandom: The Dark Knight Rises

Disclaimer: not my characters

Warnings: SPOILERS for the movie; mentions of violence and character death

Pairings: none

Rating: PG  
Wordcount: 1000 (ish)

Point of view: third

* * *

_Why did you protect the child? _a god asked him once, keeping all the monsters at bay.

_She did not belong here_, he gasped, dying on the dirt, eyes on the god's, blue as the sky he could barely remember, blue as the child's. _This was not her place_.

He had never been a good man. But he was at peace, sure of his death, glad the child had made it to freedom. The only good thing he had ever done.

.

It was not a god who carried him from Hell. It was only a man, albeit a powerful one. The most powerful man he'd ever met, would ever meet. Henri Ducard. Ra's al Ghul.

Talia's father.

Talia's father, who saved him and thanked him, and then cast him out for being too vicious. Too monstrous. Talia's father, who had left her in Hell for long, horrifying years.

He did not fight the judgment. He had long known himself to be a monster, and now his face merely reflected his soul. His body reflected his spirit – darkness, completely, unerringly, endlessly. He'd never denied the truth. Talia was safe now, and so he left content.

But she followed.

The child followed him.

.

_I abandoned you to your fate once,_ she said, one hand on the mask, the other cupped around the back of his head. _You kept me safe in Hell and I left you there. I'll never leave you again._

All he could do was hold her, cradle her as gently as he had when she was an infant, while her mother wept in despair. An innocent babe, locked in the darkness of Hell. He looked down at her, and she smiled up at him, and he swore to do his best to keep her safe.

The only good thing he'd ever done.

.

When Ra's al Ghul died, something in Talia died, too. Her resolved hardened and she turned her gaze to Gotham – for vengeance, because now she and her father could never reconcile. There could be no forgiveness.

He didn't care what they did or where they went; he'd given himself to Talia as an infant, all those years ago. Her will was his. He was her weapon, her protector, her friend.

She wanted Gotham to burn and Bruce Wayne to die agonized in the ashes.

Her will be done.

.

He had been young when he first held her, barely a man. He had never leered at her mother, never threatened her, for all the various terrible things he'd done. Of all his sins, forcing a woman has never been one of them.

Not that he stops his men. He protects only one woman, though she can defend herself now, his goddess grown and surveying her realm.

"We shall succeed where my father failed," she says, turning to grant him a smile. "We will complete his work, my dear."

He nods his head, coming to stand behind her, and wraps his arms around her when she leans against him.

How she has grown, his goddess. What a woman she has become.

He would do it all again.

.

_Who were you?_ the child asked once, curled between him and the wall. _Before this place._

He stared out at Hell, at the monsters prowling close, and bared his teeth. _I was nothing_, he murmured, already knowing what he had been born to do.

.

He would give her the world, but she wants only a city. All her power, brought to bear on a metropolis rotting from the inside out. She creates a new identity and goes to lay the groundwork; he recruits their army and lays groundwork of his own.

All must be perfect, for his goddess. They will burn Gotham to the foundations and die in the flames. The shadows will be swept away in the conflagration, and all will end, and maybe Talia will be content.

She calls him every night, and they speak of days long ago, and nights that were cold but for each other, and of the day soon to come, the day of retribution and justice and balance.

_I miss you_, she always says, sighing a world away.

_Soon_, he promises.

Soon grows closer, until it is finally the day of reckoning.

.

It is the day of reckoning, and his goddess falls.

.

He breathes for her. He bleeds for her. He will burn the world for her.

.

_Why did you protect the child? _a god asked him once, keeping all the monsters at bay.

He had been hers from her first breath, when the sky smiled at him from her eyes. They were both born in the shadows, tempered in the fires of Hell. She was his hope; he protected her so that one day she could find her own.

A man carried him from the pit, out into the light, where his goddess was growing older and wiser all the time.

The child is dead, like her father before her, and he will punish the world for her death.

Talia is dead. Her protector failed.

His eyes are open as Gotham's little maggots reclaim the city, his men dead or captured, and this time, the plan will be his.

No mercy. No hesitation.

He breathes and goes to ground, to lick his wounds and mourn.

Talia's last wish had been for Batman to feel the heat and know he had failed as his beloved Gotham died around him.

In her name, her will be done.

.

He had been born in the shadows, tossed into the darkness, abandoned to despair and fear.

His only light was a little girl's laughter, a little girl's smile, a little girl's curiosity and determination. She should never have been in the pit, nor her mother – and for all his sins, he could not comprehend the cruelty of Talia's grandfather.

For Talia, his first kill outside of the pit was her grandfather. She had smiled beautifully, watching him choke on his own bile.

For Talia, he rests and plans and lets the world believe him dead.

For Talia, the world will burn.

For Talia.


	2. the dying of the year

Title: the dying of the year

Disclaimer: not my characters

Warnings: spoilers for movie

Pairings: none

Rating: PG  
Wordcount: 210

Point of view: third

Prompt: Any, any, when they knew they were an adult

* * *

The home turns him out the day he turns eighteen (the day he's pretty sure is his birthday, the day the system has listed, but Dad was drunk all the time, out gambling and losing every penny to his name, so John isn't sure because they never celebrated anything).

John's good with computers, good with math and logic, good with rules and guidelines. He can be charming. He's efficient.

He finishes high-school by the skin of his teeth and gets a scholarship to college, and then he goes to the police academy.

He's popular, once the stigma of being a foster kid is gone. His teachers love him. His classmates laugh at his jokes and invite him to every party.

He's given a gun by the Gotham PD, and it's not the first one he's ever held. Not the first he's ever fired. He looks down at it and remembers his father – remembers Bruce Wayne, seeing that mask, the mask he's still wearing himself, and _knowing/_.

Batman doesn't like guns. Everyone's figured that out, which makes the murders he supposedly committed a bit odder.

But. John looks down at the gun and wonders if this is what means to be grown.

He's twenty-three years old.

(He's still not sure when his birthday is.)


	3. Whose is the face in the mask?

Title: Whose is the face in the mask?

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from _Phantom of the Opera_

Warnings: implied bad things happening to children

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 290

Point of view: third

Prompt: any, any, "I didn't grow bitter, I just grew up."

* * *

John used to make up stories about Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne was every hero ever, and he saved the world, and he always looked out for the kids everybody else forgot about. Bruce Wayne was Batman, John was sure of it, and he had most of the other kids at the home believing it, too, until Bruce Wayne actually visited one day, a model on his arm.

He was nice, and he was funny, and he was so obviously _not Batman_- John's still surprised he was the only one to recognize the mask.

John still can't believe no one else has ever seen through it.

.

John knows what his colleagues and superiors believe about him. He's naïve. He's idealistic. He'll be chewed up and spit out by the system that failed him once before.

He smiles at them. He follows orders. He's a good cop, with a bright future. Hell, one day he might even be commissioner, if he doesn't die first.

John is not naïve. He's sure as fuck not idealistic.

No one's looking out for the kids everybody else forgot about. So he will.

.

Bruce Wayne was Batman.

Batman died a hero.

John stands in the cave as it lights up, and he knows no one he used to know will believe this.

.

John used to make up epics about Bruce Wayne.

Now, he's thinking about taking up the cowl. He had dreamed about being a hero, back when he was still waiting for someone to save him.

He saved himself by wearing a mask for so long he became it.

Now's his chance to make it real.

.

No one's looking out for the kids everybody's forgotten about.

So John takes a deep breath and goes to work.


	4. would he have loved you

Title: would he have loved you and not let you down?

Disclaimer: not my character; title from Dido

Warnings: … shades of Jason Todd.

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 465

Point of view: third

* * *

John Blake is a good man.

Robin isn't.

Batman doesn't use guns.

Robin does.

… John Blake died on a bridge, when men following orders blew a last chance all to hell.

Robin rose from his ashes, ascendant, as Batman died.

.

Bane's rhetoric is madness, and merely a way to the pass the time, to offer hope to a lost city, all the better to twist the knife.

John Blake is angry about it, defiant, doing his best to protect what he can and bring down Bane's army. Bring down Bane, if he can.

But Robin… John Blake knows that Robin would've joined up with Bane the first chance he got.

.

John Blake pulled on a mask, a long time ago. John Blake can be angry, but it's a safe anger. It's anger at people he can see, people he can fight – anger for a city being held hostage, for people dying in the streets.

Robin had been furious at life itself, at the world, at everyone and everything. Robin's fury would've swallowed him whole. Robin's fury woud've made him stupid, would've gotten him killed.

So John Blake pulled on the mask and locked Robin away, because John Blake is a survivor.

.

John Blake is a good cop. John Blake is Commissioner Gordon's protégé. John Blake tried leading people to safety, when the world was falling down around their ears and a madman almost succeeded in blowing them skyhigh.

John Blake died on that bridge, and no one noticed.

.

His dreams, the first night after Gotham was saved, were full of screams and blood and gunpowder. Mushroom clouds and red snow and kneeling before a gaping gun barrel.

He had nightmares he hadn't had since he was a child, and all new ones.

He wondered if this was how it felt to be a dead man.

And then he let the mask go.

.

Robin takes to the streets, prepared to do whatever necessary to save his godforsaken city. He'd been born on these streets, ran them as a child, _survived_.

He has so much anger. And he finally has an outlet.

Good men have to restrain themselves. Good men have to follow rules and obey laws.

Batman was _good_.

… look where it got him.

.

John Blake would've happily been Batman's sidekick.

But Batman's gone and only Robin is left.

.

There's a lot of work to be done, but he's not afraid of hard work. He's not afraid of anything anymore.

He survived the city falling down, and he'll survive picking it back up, and he'll use guns, if he has to.

If Batman doesn't like it… well, then he can drag his ass back here and take back the cowl.

But until then.

Until then, this city is Robin's, and he's doing things his way.


End file.
